The Last Games

Chapter 1: My Worse Nightmare

        I looked at the stage that sits in front of my grandfather's mansion. It's been a year since the rebels invaded and my grandfather died. Since we found out there would be another games. All the Capitol children, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, are gathered in front of the stage. Boys on the left, girls on the right, oldest in the back. On stage there are seven chairs all filled but one, it's owner standing in front of the microphone.

"I want all of you to know that doing this gives me great pleasure. To see this from where you used to stand. Now you all know how this works. Twenty-four names, twelve girls, twelve boys. Most of you know who I am, if you don't you will. I want you all to remember who pulled your name, who reaped you, the one who made your heart drop when you heard your name spoken. The one who picked your name to fight to the death in The Hunger Games". 

          She was right, we would all remember her name, but I already knew her name. Her name was Johanna Mason.

        The first name is called and relief flows through me, guilt following soon after. Poor Aislin, I should feel bad her name was called but I don't. All I can think about is me and how I'm praying Johanna doesn't read my name from one of those small slips of paper. I'm so caught up in my thoughts I don't even realize we're on the fourth name.

"Shasta Flickerman".

        No, not Shasta, she is to soft, gentle, caring. I've known her since we were six. Her father, Ceaser, was friends with my grandfather. We use to have tea in the rose garden, she's my best friend. This isn't fair, we are children. We aren't responsible for this, we didn't know better.

        More names, Alessia, Bernedette, Lyrar. By the time we get to the tenth girls name I'm sick to my stomach. I can't listen to this anymore, I can't take it. My classmates and neighbors being sent into the games. Eleven, a girl named Ember I didn't catch the last name, but when her face appears on the screen it seems familiar. The last name. Johanna crosses reaches into the glass bowl and opens the slip, a twisted grin appears on her face.

"Rania Snow".  That's the last thing I hear before I black out.

        When I wake up I'm in a room that I don't recognize with a pounding head ache. There's no windows and two doors, a dark purple blanket is thrown over me. I try to remember what happened, my name was called. I should have known, President Snow was my grandfather after all. I should have seen this coming, of course I would be picked. The Reaping was probably rigged, they wanted me in the games. Anger, sadness and fear over whelm me until I can't take it anymore. Before I can stop my self I'm out of the bed and running full force at the nearest wall with my arm coming up and a fist forming. I punch the wall as hard as I can ignoring the pain that goes shooting up my arm. Why? Why are they doing this? None of this is our fault!

"We're kids! We're kids," I scream as I sink down against the wall and begin to weep.  Crying must have let everything out because after about twenty minutes I pull my self together. I decide that if I'm going to be here I'm going to survive, no matter what.

         I try and ignore my stomach but instead I go look for the kitchen or pantry. I leave my room and find my self in a sitting room, with couches and tables. On the other side of the room is a door with a crystal doorknob. Please be the kitchen I think to my self as I open the door.

"Wow!" I slam the door shut. Defiantly not the kitchen. The door opens behind me and a boy steps out. I turn around slowly unsure of what to do.

"Did your parents teach you to knock?" he says to me.

"I'm really sorry about that. I was hoping you would be the kitchen," I say quickly, "wait, that came out weird," stupid girl, just stop talking.

"Your fine I get what your trying to say. I'm Mercer," he says holding out his hand.

"I'm-"

"I know who you are, Rania Snow," he says with a grin before I finish.

"It's rude to interrupt," stupid girl, "I'm sorry that was rude. I guess I'm not very good at first impressions". Mercer chuckles and I feel blood rush into my cheeks.

"Don't fret, you're just lucky I still had that towel on when you came barging in. Come on, follow me".

Confused I say "Where are we going?".

"You said you were hungry. I found the kitchen an hour ago".  Mercer walks toward a hallway by my door that I somehow missed. There's no one else on the floor not even avoxes. There's more doors, but no one is out of their rooms. The walls are a pale yellow with glittery, gold flowers. The doors are all brown with crystal doorknobs, all of them closed. At the end of the hallway there's an empty doorway leading into a room with a giant glass dinning table and chairs that look like black spaghetti all piled up and shaped into a seat.

"The kitchens through that door," Mercer points to a white door with no handle, just hinges.

"Thank god, I'm starving," I quickly head into the kitchen. I dive for the fruit that's on the counter, taking a very large, unattractive bite of an apple.

"Slow down, piggy," Mercer says. I decide to ignore his comment and keep eating.

"So how long was I sleeping?," I ask.

"Four hours or so. Come on let's go take seat," I follow him to the kitchen.

"Are we the only tributes on this floor?".

"Yes, then our mentor and stylist and their crew," he responds.

"This is horrible," I says with some-what of an attitude. "We shouldn't be here, it's unfair".

"It's more fair then you think," Mercer says not even looking at me.

"How can you say that? We did nothing to them! The games were their punishment for rebeling against the Capitol," I feel anger building up again.

"Did your grandfather tell you that?" Mercer says calmly.

"Don't talk about my grandfather," I snap.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to upset you," he says finally looking at me. For the first time I finally get a good look at him. His strong jaw line, his damp hair dark and thick. Eyes that you can't look away from with their sky blue color. He had golden skin and a strong build for a Capitol boy.

"How old are you?" there I go speaking before thinking again.

"Sixteen," he says smiling at me. His teeth are perfect too, I can feel myself blushing. "How old are you?".

"Fifteen," I was about to open my mouth to speak again, but someone interrupted me. Rude.

"Good she's awake," a ruff voice says behind me, "good morning your Highness". He says as I turn to face him, I instantly recognize him.

"I'm Haymitch Abernathy, I'll be your mentor".